


Some People (Might Say My Life is in a Rut)

by tyroneslothrop



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Casuals, Football, Homophobia, Hooliganism, Humor, I tried to keep the Scots speak to a minimum, M/M, Scotland, Violence, i had so much fun writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyroneslothrop/pseuds/tyroneslothrop
Summary: Dan and Phil are casuals, and one day they meet at the Ibrox Stadium.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The hardest part of writing this was picking what Jam lyric to use for the title. Shoutout to Craig in my class, who inspired this. Sound guy.

                The worst thing about being a football casual was taking selfies, Dan thinks. He’s near enough dislocated his shoulder trying to fit his Stone Island badge into the frame. Oh well, it was worth it in the end. He uploaded the pic to Instagram 30 minutes ago and it’s got 700 likes, and it’s been reposted by at least 3 casual accounts. That’s no bad for a Wednesday.

                He’s captioned it ‘Old Firm game tonight !’ with various beer, explosion and football emojis. Some of his pals call him gay for using emojis so extensively. Dan doesn’t care about that. Well, not too much anyway. He takes one more look in the mirror, fixes his hair, puts his chib in his bag and heads out.

                “Bye, dad.”

                He gets a grunt in response. Dan slams the door and huffs, buries his hands into his pockets.

-

                The worst thing about being a football casual was the look of disappointment in your mother’s eyes, Phil thinks. It was the Ranger vs Celtic match tonight, and his ma doesn’t even speak to him on Old Firm days. Sometimes she locks the door after she leaves, and he has to sleep at a mates. He doesn’t mind that though, it’s better than his mum finding out that…

                He stops his train of thought, and tries to decide between his Weekend Offender shirt and his Lacoste. Sighing, he plumps for the Lacoste. The Weekend Offender thing is a bit played out these days, and he doesn’t want to attract police attention.

                He throws himself on his bed, opens a can and scrolls through his Insta. He can’t be arsed leaving just now – it’s freezing, and the idea scrapping with folk at 3PM doesn’t sound too appealing. All the photos on his feed look the same, same gear, same poses, same cans… suddenly, he stumbles on a new post from danisnotonfire. Phil licks his lips involuntarily, and gives it a double tap. He looks like he’s about to break his arm trying to get the Stone Island badge in, but he’s still fit. Phil contemplates for a few moments before deciding to comment “Lookin good, bawjaws” on it, complete with a smiling emoji. Some of his pals call him gay for using emojis, but Phil doesn’t mind. Well, not too much anyway.

                He closes his phone and downs his can. The clock reads 3:30. Ah fuck it, he’ll head anyway. He shuffles about, putting on his jacket (or jaseket, as Phil calls it) and stomping downstairs.

                “Love you, mum.”

                No response. Phil’s eyes sting a bit.

-

_AmazingPhil: Lookin good, bawjaws_

                Dan grins a bit, and clicks on the guy’s profile. Finally, another casual who can appreciate the art form that is emojis.  His page loads up and… he’s quite tid- Dan stops that thought right there. He thinks he’s seen him kicking outside the Ibrox stadium a few times. He gives the wee bam a follow and shoves his phone back in his pocket. Maybe he’ll see him there today. He hopes so, anyway.

-

                _danisnotonfire followed you_

                Phil squeals a bit, before realising that he needs to act like a hard man. Oh well, no-one heard, he thinks. He’s drinking another can as the train slides past Kilwinning. Phil doesn’t even like beer – in all honestly, he’d rather have a bottle of Blue WKD. But he’s a hard man, and hard men don’t drink poof juice.

                Poof… the world swirls about in his head as he polishes off his Fosters. He recounts all the times it’s been yelled at him – poof, faggot, queer, gay boy - whilst he’s been rolling about. He feels his eyes water a tiny bit, and he angrily wipes it away.

                He’s a _hard man_ , for fucks sake.

-

                Dan doesn’t even like football. People ask him what team he supports, and he picks a different one every time. He thinks he might own a shirt of every team from the Scottish Premier League. He’s posted so many selfies in different shirts that people have noticed, but he doesn’t care. He just enjoys a scrap. A good ol’ schoolyard fight.

                Dan’s changed his mind. The worst thing about being a football casual is having to sit thought 90 minutes of pure shite without anyone to get wide with. He’s got an old couple to one side of him and a wee boy on the other. Would it be wrong to headbutt a 10 year old into the pitch? Dan considers it for a few moments. Yeah, it’d be wrong.

                His nails are nearly gnawed off. He’s dying to lay into someone. It’s not even half-time yet. He hates to admit it, but he was looking out for that stunner on Instagram earlier. Didn’t see him. He probably walked right past him. He wonders what he’d be like in a tousle. He didn’t look too hard.

                The whistle blows for half-time. Dan throws his head into his hands and releases a massive sigh. Only 45 more to go.

-

                Phil is a Rangers man till he dies. Hell, he’s considered getting the logo tattooed on his shoulder, but he thinks he might have trouble getting hired if he did that.

                They’re down 3 nil. There’s 5 minutes to go. Phil feels like he might snap someone’s neck when he’s outside. Yeah, it’s just a game, Phil knows, but he really would die for Rangers.

                In penalties, Waghorn manages to score. But it’s not enough. 3 – 1. The toilets are torn up before the match is even finished.

-

                “Three oooooone! Three ooooooone!”

                Dan’s giving it big licks outside, waiting for a Rangers fan to come up and hook him one. Truthfully, Dan doesn’t have a side when it comes to the Rangers vs Celtic debacle. But Celtic supporters are the hardest. They can rough you up something good.

                Phil hears this ruckus as soon as he steps outside, fists concealed in his pockets, and all his rage surges up. Before he even registers it, he’s storming up to the cause of the commotion and pushing him against the wall. Then, he gives him a proper look. Oh…

                You can see it click on Dan’s face, and his smile turns into a smirk. Phil is sweating a little bit, and Dan pokes his tongue into his cheek.

                “Awrite, bawjaws?” Dan says, and Phil has trouble maintaining his composure. “Look even nicer in real life.”

                Phil shoves his face right into Dan’s. Their lips are nearly touching. Phil’s pupils make him look like he’s been taking eccies. Dan’s still smirking, giving Phil a little laugh. God.

                Then Dan whispers into Phil’s mouth, and Phil’s legs turn to jelly.

                “Square go, like?”

                Phil pulls back and swings.

                10 minutes later, and they’ve got a bit of a crowd around them, and there’s blood pouring down both their faces. At one point, Phil gave Dan’s hair a tug and Dan moaned, low and throaty. Phil’s still sporting a bit of chub from it, and he thinks Dan’s noticed. He hasn’t said anything though, they’re both too busy firing fists at each other.

                Phil might be a scrawny bastard, but the guy can fucking punch. Dan thinks he might have a black eye and a fractured nose. It’s probably the best fight Dan’s had in months, and it doesn’t hurt that the guy he’s rolling about with is proper bang tidy. He can feel his semi press up on him sometimes, and Dan’s so tempted to rub against it. So tempted.

                Eventually, most of the crowd has scattered, and Dan has Phil pinned down, arse resting on his crotch. Phil’s fully hard now, and Dan’s sporting too. Phil feels quite big through his joggers, and his dick is resting right between Dan’s cheeks. He presses down, and Phil is staring at him with a strange mix of lust and rage.

                Dan pushes his face to his, and their lips are nearly touching again. If Phil were to lick his lips… Dan starts whispering, and he can feel their lips ghost over each other.

                “I’ve got you pinned down. Gonna give up? Gonna let me win?” Dan punctuates every sentence with a push down, and Phil growls at him.

                “Fuck off.”

                “Or what?” Another grind.

                “Or…”

                Phil doesn’t get time to formulate a threat. Dan presses his lips onto his, and any coherent thought Phil had has wandered off.

                Phil’s eyes flutter shut, and when they re-open, Dan looks at him questioningly. It’s the closest thing to fear he’s seen in the boy’s face thus far. Phil gasps, and struggles to speak.

                “You… call that… a kiss?”

                “No, but I call this a kiss.”

                Dan pushes his tongue into Phil’s mouth, exploring and licking everything he can find. Phil tastes of coppery blood, beer and vape steam, and Dan loves it. Despite the fighting and pent up rage, the kiss is tender, and Dan seems almost shy. Phil comes to his senses enough to be able to kiss back, and they lay like that till God knows how long.

                Someone shouts ‘poofs’ at them, and a Buckfast bottle gets smashed. Dan just flips them the bird and continues to kiss Phil. When they come back for breath, it’s dark. They can’t tell whose blood is whose.

                “Come back to my gaff?” Dan whispers, and that hint of fear enters his eyes again. Phil nods, and the fear disappears so quickly Phil doubts that he even seen it.

-

                Phil takes a selfie with his Blue WKD, making sure to fit the Stone Island badge in somehow (its Dan's jaseket. It smells like him). After 30 tries he gets it right, and he opens up Instagram.

 

AmazingPhil

There's something I need to get off my chest, troops. For years, I've been a beer drinker. Fosters, Carling, Tennants, Budwieser... hell, even fucking BrewDog. There's no much I haven't tried when it comes to beer. I even have the nickname 'beer guts', even though I'm built like a fucking ironing board. But... I hate beer. It tastes like pish made of barley and oats. It has a honking aftertaste, makes you stink and leaves you in a pure state. I prefer Blue WKD. Aye, aye, 'poof juice' 'lassies drink', fucking leave yer comment below. But I don't care. It tastes lovely. Enjoy yer horse piss, and I'll enjoy my quality fruit juice.

Oh yeah, and I'm gay. Me and @danisnotonfire had our first date at Five Guy's today, and his cum tastes like bacon crisps.

Toodles.

 

                Suddenly, his phone buzzes.

_danisnotonfire: Lookin good, bawjaws_

                Phil looks up, and Dan's just smiling at him. Phil rugby tackles him to the bed and kisses him. Hard.


	2. That's Entertainment!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's hiding his backstory from Dan. How horrible - how are we supposed to engage in worldbuilding if these are the sticks I get thrown?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldnae leave it alone, there's depths to their bampottery that havent been explored yet.
> 
> Dan is a Killie boy, Phil is from Ayr. It's canon, troops.

                The worst thing about being a casual was hitting the green and having to not cough it up, Phil thinks. He’s never been too fond of the herb himself, but he’s learned to smoke it anyway. Cause he’s a hard man, innit? They don’t call him plant boy for nothing.

                Dan rolled up to his gaff today, no pre-warning, with a bag of the stuff, so he invited him in. His maw’s out on the backshift, and his dad… well, he doesn’t know where his dad is, so why not? So here they are, watching Match of the Day whilst Phil tries hard not to choke on smoke and fumes.

                “Ha, are you gagging already, mate? I’ve not even got my dick out yet.”

                This time, Phil properly chokes, and they roll about on the bed giggling like a pair of numpties. When Phil finally recovers, he jabs Dan in the side.

                “Like I could choke on that thing, pal. Would have a better chance choking on a tic-tac.”

                Dan barks, and mumbles something like ‘fuck up, mate’ before pushing Phil down and kissing him sweetly. Phil kisses back and – where’s the joint? Isn’t this a fire hazard? Oh well.

                After a while of this, Dan pulls back with a tinge of fondness in his eyes. Phil notices the joint on the pillow, half-smoked, extinguished. Oh, right. They’re both lying down, Dan’s arms wrapped around Phil’s neck, and Phil can’t hear Gary Lineker’s voice anymore. How long were they kissing for? Christ.

                “Hey, uh… I’ve been meaning to ask…”

                Phil looks Dan properly in the eyes now, and if he squints, there’s a tinge of that same fear he seen in him on the first day. When he kissed him for the first time. Phil can’t help it, he goes in for another peck.

                “Hey,” and Dan’s giggling again, “am serious.”

                “Yeah, I know. What is it?”

                Phil starts pushing Dan’s fringe back, and Dan can’t even speak for how much he’s smiling. Finally, he manages to regain control of his cheek muscles.

                “Eh, I was wondering… how did you start…” Dan starts waving his hand about, indicating nothing in particular, “this?”

                “What d’you mean?”

                “I mean… y’know, scrapping and all that.”

                Phil turns onto his back and contemplates the ceiling for a bit. Dan wraps his arm around his waist and nuzzles into his neck, a bit scared of looking into his eyes.

                “Well, I was a bit tired of being called speccy, y’know? I was always a Rangers man, and when I found out you could fashion yourself a personality from the idea of football fighting, I was sold.”

                “Hmm.”

                “Hmm…”

                Phil starts playing with the string from Dan’s hoodie, and Dan’s almost too struck to speak. It’s funny, they’ve been going for 2 weeks and Dan’s heart still flutters whenever they touch each other.

                “So, who are you then? Really? When you strip away the hooliganism?”

                “Hooliganism? That’s a large word for a Wednesday.”

                Dan laughs, and snuggles into Phil’s armpit some more.

                “Well, it’s been so long,” Phil sighs, “I don’t even remember. Why don’t you find out?”

                “Challenge accepted,” and Dan pushes Phil down for another kiss.

-

                Phil’s had a bit too much Bucky. Dan’s been a bit too adorable tonight. Phil can see this ending in disaster.

                “Remember,” and Dan’s slurring a bit – he’s been at the tonic wine too, “when you said you didn’t really know who you are?”

                They’re rolling about in a swing park and all their pals have left them. Not too many mates left them after the big reveal about their sexualities. That was a surprise to both of them. But there’s only so much making out under a jungle gym any of them can take. All you can hear is heavy breathing, giggles and the rustling of leaves.

                “Remember?”

                “Yeah, I remember that…”

                And they’re kissing again. It’s all sloppy, and Dan tastes too much like Buckfast for it to be enjoyable. Phil kisses him anyway.

                “…what about it?” Phil finally manages to finish, and he can’t tell if the saliva dribbling down his cheek is his or Dan’s. Dan takes a few seconds, as if he can’t remember what he was actually talking about.

                “Yeah, well, uh, I think I figured it out. I think deep down,” Phil’s breath stops, “you’re a complete asshole.”

                And they start play wrestling again. See, there’s play wrestling, and there’s _play wrestling_. Most couples just pin their partner down and start shagging them. Dan and Phil knock chunks out of each other. They can’t tell what’s rust and what’s blood. You can take the boy out of Kilmarnock, but you can’t take the Kilmarnock out of the boy. At least that’s what Dan thinks, anyway.

                “Nah, I’m just joking.”

                Dan pushes himself from Phil, and Phil dreads the oncoming conversation. Hopefully he won’t remember it in the morning. Hopefully.

                “Phil, uh…”

                “Stop that,” Phil says, and Dan actually startles. As if he’s never heard Phil get wide with him before.

                “How’s about you tell me about _your_ history? Why did _you_ start scrapping?”

                Dan takes a few minutes to register his words, and he startles again. It’s like Dan’s never drank before, the way he’s jumping about like a live wire. Phil pulls him down to the ground again, and forces him to look into his eyes.

                “Eh…”

                “I know you don’t actually care about football, babe. Just tell me, yeah?”

                And… did Dan just blush? Phil swears he just blushed. But Dan raises his face again, and his cheeks are a white slate. Did Phil imagine it?

                “Well, uh, I was a bit insecure.”

                Phil does a double take. “Insecure?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Why?”

                “Well. How many hard men do you know?”

                “Uh…? A few?”

                “Aye,” Dan starts again, a stern look in his eyes, “how many hard men do you know who want to shag other men?”

                A silence rings through the room. A woman starts moaning. Someone must be shagging their burd behind the bushes. Fucks sake.

                “Only you.”

                “Yeah,” and Dan’s eyes turn to the leaves below them, “it all started when some bam from school called me a fag. I just cracked him one. I had a reputation from then on, y’know?” He looks back up.

                “Yeah, I know.”

                “You gonna tell me about yourself now, then?”

                Phil just pulls him into a kiss, and they fall asleep in the playpark leaves.

-

                “HAW!”

                They wake up to a banging headache, and some middle-aged clown kicking leaves into their faces.

                “SOME WEANS WANT TAE PLAY HERE!”

                Dan manages to brush the leaves off his body, and he drags Phil up with him.

                “Aye, nae bother. Phil, ye wakin’ up?”

                Phil groans incoherently, and then follows Dan when he tugs his sleeve. The angry dad tugs his kids out the car and pushes them on the swing. Jokes on him, Dan and Phil manage to piss on his car before going home with their hangovers.

-

                One greasy fry-up later, Phil is groaning on Dan’s bed, lamenting all the life decisions that lead up to this moment.

                “Oh, woe betide me.”

                “Fuck up mate, you never had a hangover before?”

                “Not one like this! You’re a bad influence.”

                Dan looks indignant. “Hey, I wanted to buy you Blue WKD, but you went ‘Oh, no, I want Bucky’. So, no my fault.”

                Phil just groans and turns onto his stomach.

                “js wanted t impress you…”

                “Hm?”

                “I just,” and Phil’s back on his side, gazing at Dan with a strange look, “wanted to impress you.”

                “Impress me? With drinking Bucky? Oh, I cannae wait till our wedding.”

                Phil can’t muster up the ability to laugh, so he settles for a weird bark instead. “I’ll get us a Bucky flavoured cake.”

                Dan, funnily enough, can actually laugh right now. “Aye, nae bother.”

-

                Phil doesn’t even remember why they started arguing. All he knows is that he’s slumped against a wall, alcopops in hand, and Dan’s ranting at him about God knows what.

                “And another thing! You’re so secretive. Why don’t you trust me? What are you hiding from me?”

                Phil tans the rest of the Smirnoff Ice and looks back up at Dan. Dan gives him a look of intense disapproval, and he’s almost ashamed. Almost.

                “You don’t need to know everything about me. I’m allowed to have secrets.”

                “Yeah, but,” and Dan slides down the wall to meet him, popping open a tab of his own, “it just makes me feel like shite, y’know? If ye cannae confide in yer man, then who _can_ you confide in? I’m just a worrier.”

                Dan rests his head on Phil’s shoulder, and Phil starts fiddling with the zips on Dan’s jaseket. It’s the same Stone Island one from the first day they met, and Phil feels an intense pang of nostalgia. He thinks he’d die for this boy, he really would.

                “I started scrapping cause I was shite at school Couldnae draw, couldnae cook, couldnae do maths, couldne play the ukulele… I wanted to be good at something. My mum was always disappointed in me. I thought, if I became some wee hard man, she’d maybe be proud ae me? Aye, dumb thought, but all I’ve wanted is to protect her. But aye, now she’s extra disappointed in me, and I’m caught in an endless spiral of violence and drinking now. I wish I could get out it, but…”

                A pigeon starts beating at the window, and they both observe it mindlessly instead of looking at each other. Eventually, the pigeon pisses off, and Dan makes to speak.

                “Thanks for telling me that, Phil. I really do appreciate that. Listen, I’m gonna head… uh.”

                Phil peers at him from under his arm.

                “Maybe…” Dan looks awkward, “don’t talk to me for a few days? I need to think some things over.”

                Dan goes in for a kiss, but Phil turns his cheek.

                “Yeah, nae bother. See you, Phil. I love you.”

                Dan’s vamooshed out the door before what he said can register in Phil’s muddled brain. Did… did he just say…?

                Phil has no time to contemplate it, because he’s passed out on the floor before he knows it.

-

                Bawjaws: I open ma heart to you and that’s how you repay me? Fucks sake, man.

                Bawjaws: Don’t bother seeing me again.

                Dan turns his phone on silent. He knows Phil doesn’t mean it. He knows.

-

                Phil hasn’t fought anyone since meeting Dan, but he’s itching to headbutt some cunt tonight. It doesn’t help that Ayr United – his favourite, second only to Rangers – just lost in penalties to Hurlford. Fucking Hurlford, man.

                He’s throwing back Blue WKDs, ignoring the snide comments he’s getting from the other patrons at the bar. If one more person gets wide with him…

                He’s outside, inhaling cigarette smoke and scoping for someone to crack in the jaw. Then, some wee guy comes up to him.

                “Enjoying your poof jui-“

                He doesn’t get a chance to finish the statement before Phil and the other man are lost in a rubble of fists and cursing. Phil missed this. He missed the feeling of pain and adrenaline coursing through his body. He missed needing painkillers the next morning. He missed the dull ache that he’d carry with him for the following week. He missed the taste of his own blood.

                The other guy’s got him down, and he keeps fucking jabbing him. It’s only till one of his pals says ‘right, that’s enough Stevie’ that he relents.

                Phil has no idea how long he’s pan breed on the floor for, but he feels some guy give him a hand up.

                “Ye awrite? Ye took quite the leddering there, mate.”

                Then the guy takes a proper look at him, and something seems to register in his mind.

                “Wait, are you that wee poof ah seen yince ootside the Ibrox?”

                Phil says nothing. Then the guy spits on him and leaves. Phil would run after him, but he’s exhausted. He just makes a mental note of his face for the next time.

                After about 20 minutes, he finds strength to stand up. It’s only till he’s in front of the pub that he realises he’s been chibbed. He collapses. All he can hear in his ears is the dull ring of ambulance sirens.

-

                “Excuse me, sir, but who can we contact?”

                Phil takes a few moments. His maw’s out the question. Reluctantly, he recounts to the man Dan’s number.

                “Thank you, sir. Is this man a relative?”

                Phil considers for a moment. He could probably pass as his brother, but Phil’s sick of hiding.

                “No, he’s my partner.”

                The man does a bit of a double take, but dials him up anyway. Phil passes out again.

-

                When he wakes up again, he can hear a faint sobbing at his side. He makes move to turn, but the pain is horrendous. He groans instead.

                “Phil! I thought you were gone.”

                “Dan?”

                “Hi.”

                And now he’s stood in front of him, eyes rimmed red. Dan crying is a horrible sight. Phil never wants to see it again.

                “Hi. I’d hug you, but...” and Phil indicates to his useless arms. Dan smiles. Finally.

                “Yeah, it’s fine. Phil – the doctor said,” and he’s blubbing again,” if the knife was any closer to the left, you’d be dead.”

                Phil says nothing for a while, and Dan sobs it out next to him.

                “Hm. Thanks for coming, by the way.”

                “Nae bother.”

                Dan’s silent again.

                “Er, about when we were arguing…”

                Phil gives a dramatic sigh, and they both start giggling.

                “I’ve just been chibbed and you want tae have a serious chat? Fucks sake, man.”

                “Well, at least you cannae run away.”

                Phil mutters ‘evil’ and looks back at him, smiling.

                “Uh, I’m sorry for running out on you after ye told me all that. I was just thinking about where I want this relationship to head.”

                “Hm? And where dae ye want it to head? Are you breaking up with me? It’s no good manners to break up with someone whilst they’re near pan breed, by the way.”

                Dan just stands there and looks sheepish. _Is_ he breaking up with him? Phil doesn’t think he could cope with that. He’d probably just sit on his doorstop every night and greet into his Blue WKD.

                “Nah, complete opposite actually. I was thinking about marriage.”

                Phil does a weird thing with his mouth.

                “Are you joking?”

                “Kinda. Not really. Uh…”

                “For fucks sake Dan. You’ll be filling out adoption papers next week.”

                Dan smiles.

                “You’d be a great dad.”

                Phil smiles back.

                “I want 5 kids. Dan Jr, Dan the 2nd, Daniel, Danny and Danish Pastry.”

                “I love them already.”

                “Well I should bloody hope so, they’re your kids.”

                Dan just giggles, and a nurse gives them a dirty look. Phil flips her the bird.

**Author's Note:**

> Dan would actual look good in Stone Island gear. Dan, if you read this, cop yourself a Stone Island jaseket.
> 
> Thanks for reading, troops.


End file.
